


the pain is my pleasure (nothing can measure)

by distelstaart



Category: Slam Dunk
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4984873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distelstaart/pseuds/distelstaart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rukawa likes the way Hanamichi moves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pain is my pleasure (nothing can measure)

Rukawa likes the way Hanamichi moves.

Most of the time the idiot's movements are too clumsily forceful, his long arms and powerful legs propelling his body forward before such a notion as grace has time to manifest. He's untrained, and it shows (badly, if you ask Rukawa). Not nearly gentle enough when handling the ball, he dribbles it like every bit of suppressed energy has to be expelled through it. He can't coordinate worth shit, not with the others and not with his own body, and his eyes are always fixed right at the ball, which is great for fending off some traps and also great for stumbling directly into some others. He also has yet to develop the acute sense for the playing field so necessary for seeing through some of the big ploys that get tossed their way every now and then.

On the whole his performance is piss-poor. Unbelievably awful. Depressingly stupid and dangerous to others and himself.

Why then does he, every so often, get into a phase where his body's movements are so heartrendingly perfect, where his every motion looks so effortlessly beautiful, where the titanfall of his talent stands crushingly invincible amongst the others, allies and enemies alike. Moments of glory, interspersed with wide stretches of bumbling incompetence that make them stand out all the more.

(Though if he'd be honest, the times of complete idiocy are getting fewer, and Rukawa simultaneously dreads and impatiently anticipates the day they'll be completely gone, if that day will indeed ever come.)

These small instances make his heartbeat stall and shivers crawl down his spine as his body runs cold, and he thinks there's a fierce feeling taking shape inside of him. _This_ is what blaying basketball ought to be like. This is how the man who proclaimed himself his rival, challenging him at every turn has to be. And deep inside he can't shake the thought that _this is gonna be fun_.

It's a shame he doesn't get to fight the idiot more often, maybe he could draw out some more of that latent power.

Alas, contrary to popular belief, these moments do not only manifest themselves when Sakuragi gets serious. He doesn't even need to be playing basketball. Sometimes (albeit very seldom) some kind of switch will be flipped and the imbecile will go from insufferable dork to something that has the capability to steal Rukawa's breath away. It's infuriating.

 

\----

 

Here’s the thing: Rukawa Kaede is a healthy teenage boy. He eats nutritiously balanced food, keeps his body in shape and sleeps enough for two. He entertains a variety of interests in his sparse free time, ranging from the guitar he bought one day on a whim to the occasional book (more often than not about basketball) to his favourite pastime of strapping in his earbuds and relaxing to the sound of music. He's handsome and he knows it on some abstract plane, and the fact that he doesn't have a girlfriend even when he so clearly could is explained by the vital circumstance that he absolutely cannot be arsed to. Training and school occupy his time well enough, and it's not like he has an interest in any of the girls coming after him.

Still, the fact that he's basically asexual does nothing to detract from earlier statement that Rukawa Kaede is a perfectly healthy teenage boy, if a little challenged in the libido department. He jerks it sometimes to relieve his aching body, but that's about the limit of his fleshly inclinations.

Why then does this long neglected part of him rear its flushed head at this very moment?

It’s been an absolutely normal sunday in their training schedule. Their teammates, having completed their practice way before them, have already cleared out for the day. The only ones to stay behind were him and the idiot, and after a long few hours spent trying to introduce tag-team strategies into their daily back and forth, Rukawa might have been excused for the various inklings of homicidal urges welling up at the mere sight of the imbecile.

Still, it was over. The day was going well into a particularly hot afternoon, and Rukawa and Hanamichi were left to fend for themselves in the stifling locker room air.

Rukawa was not particularly well-disposed towards heat. More often than not, his head would go wonky, and he hated the feeling of the summer air oppressively clinging to his very skin, not even to be driven away by a thorough scrub-down. So it was with some impatience that he regarded the languishing redhead stretched out face-down on the worn sofa. It was past time to lock up, and if the cretin dawdled any longer he could damn well stay stuck inside this suffocating goddamn room by himself.

Just as he moved to make a snarky remark though, Sakuragi gave up his languid pose to turn abruptly onto his back and arch his body, his limbs extending way past the dimensions of the sofa he was settled on, his head thrown back as far as the resisting cushions would allow him. His long neck on display and his short-cropped red mane buried into the pillows, the entire arc of his body strained upwards, his ribs and pecs and abs clearly delineated and stomach quivering, while his toes and fingers were splayed in the air. His eyes were pressed shut, his teeth grit, before relaxing completely, his joints falling out of focus and curling in on himself lazily, as if the strained pain had made way for long-yearned-for relief.

Rukawa hadn't noticed his breath coming to a stand-still, just as he hadn't noticed his eyes widening slightly and staring fixedly at the tableau presenting itself before him. They tracked the line of the Hanamichi's spine, the curve of his neck leading into strong collar-bones and pert nipples, the line of a sweat-drop rolling down his stomach, hindered in its path by the sharp hipbones now thrown into sharp relief, only to be caught by the fabric of his pants, stretching indecently as Hanamichi's thighs fell apart.

He felt an involuntary rush of blood pounding into his gut, straight into that one point where everything culminated. There was a heavy heat strangling his movements. He took a moment to turn his back, and said in a voice that was considerably rougher than he would have liked: "Hurry up, idiot. We have to lock up."

A grunt resonated behind him, which did things to his groin he wasn't particularly happy to acknowledge. Still he veered his head towards the sound, keeping his traitorous body safely turned away.

Sakuragi was gazing at him from beneath lowered eyelids, his normally bright eyes darkened to an impossibly deep brown.

 

 

Then he yawned. "Can't even get a bit of rest around here, can I", he grumbled dispiritedly and scratched his head, before rolling onto his stomach and getting up.

Ass-first, Rukawa noted.

Without sparing him a second glance, Sakuragi stomped out of the room. "You can lock up by yourself, Ruka-asshole", he said, waving his hand and disappearing around the corner.

 

\----

 

Rukawa locked up and went home. He ate dinner while watching TV, and afterwards he took a long hot shower before going up to his room and stretching out on the bed, dropping off peacefully.

(As soon as the entry door fell into place, he turned to his room, up the stairs. He closed that door, too, and carefully sat down on the edge of his bed. Slowly, he let himself fall backwards.

He thought of glimpses of naked skin, moistened by sweat. Of the brimming tension contained within every muscle and sinew on display. Of that long neck, a chin high up in the air.

He thought of Hanamichi and laid hand on his heavy cock.)

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
